


With Nothing but the Birds for Witnesses

by Maab_Connor



Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Comment Fic, First Time, Healing Sex, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutant, Outdoor Sex, Pheromones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 04:30:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maab_Connor/pseuds/Maab_Connor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>charlies_dragon asked for: Wolverine/Gambit; alone, in the forest, with nothing but the birds for witnesses  and the plot went from simple comment fic to a fairly massive boom of plot and porn.  It became Wordy Comic Porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Nothing but the Birds for Witnesses

Logan walked into the med bay, seeking Hank. “Hey, you got a second?” he said quietly, not knowing if they were alone.

“Of course, Logan,” he took off his glasses and put down his inventory list as he turned to his friend. “It’s not often I see you down here, is there something you need?”

“Wanted to ask about the Cajun.”

Beast took a deep breath, weighing his options. “I believe that you should talk to Gambit about the specifics-“

“I don’t need specifics, my nose tells me plenty. I just need to know how long til the kid goes nuclear and we’ve got 90 hormonal teenagers hopped up on his thrall.”

“It’s impossible to say.”

“Not long though,” Logan said, unnecessarily. 

Beast hummed in agreement.

“Nothin to it then, I’ll get him outta here. Just, uh, gimme a few hours headstart before you rat me out to Chuck?”

“Logan I’m surprised at you,” Beast scolded, “this would fall under treatment of a patient and as such it’s privileged information. Even from Professor Xavier.”

Logan smiled, nodded his thanks and left the med bay. He went right for Gambit’s quarters, taking the time to pull a few couples out of dark corners and threaten them and remind them that their headmaster happened to be a telepath.

Remy opened soon after Logan’s knock, and if the pheromones in the hallway had been enough to addle Logan’s brain, it was nothing compared to the wall of want that hit him when that door was opened. However, Remy looked like hell, he was pale and sweaty and looked even more gaunt than usual. “Gambit in no mood to spar today, homme,” Remy said and started to shut the door.

“Ain’t here to spar, Cajun. Grab a bag, I’m getting you outta here.”

Remy didn’t move from the door, but neither did he finish shutting it. “Gambit not up for a road trip either.”

Logan sighed, cursing himself soon after when a denser wave of pheromones hit him. “And I ain’t up to dealin’ with 50 knocked up hormonal teenage girls. I’m gettin’ you outta here. We’ll figure out a way to deal with the thrall, but right now, you need to not be around a bunch’a horny kids. Pack a bag.”

Remy’s shoulders slumped even more, but he did as he was asked.

“Quit lookin’ like a kicked puppy, kid, this was my idea. Chuck doesn’t know anything and Hank’s coverin’ best he can for us. I don’t think Chuck knows yet how bad this could get for you, but me and Hank… ferals can smell pheromones better than the rest. I had to scare off quite a few couples on the way though and I’m worried what’ll happen in a few days when you still haven’t had an outlet. Right hand’s only good for so much.”

Remy turned at that and narrowed his eyes at Logan. He threw the last of his clothes into his duffel, pulled the strap across his chest and walked out the door, still glaring at Logan.

Logan smiled though, seemed like when the Cajun was good’n pissed, he only gave off about half the pheromones. Good to know.

They took a jeep; Logan’s bag was already in the back, and hit the road with the top off and the wind roaring in their ears. Remy wasn’t in the mood to talk and that suited Logan just fine.

It was coming up on midnight by the time they reached a small cabin in the middle of the woods, next to a fast-moving river.

“Dis no good, homme,” Remy said softly. “Fine dat Remy’s thrall can’t get to anyone way out here, but how Remy gonna work it out of his system with no one around for miles?”

“Flipped a coin actually,” Logan admitted. “Chances of getting you laid a lot are higher in a city, but so are the chances of us gettin’ noticed. We’re just over an hour outside of Boston here, safe place to fall back but close enough you can go get your rocks off much as you need. You go nuclear, I don’t want it in the middle of a million people. ‘Sides, you get too worked up, I’ll throw your skinny Cajun ass in the river. Cold this time of year.”

“You’d do dat to Gambit?” he looked affronted.

Logan lit his cigar and smiled. “Bet on it bub.” He pulled Remy’s bag out and tossed it to him, then grabbed his own bag and the cooler. “It’s late tonight, we’ll take you to the city in the mornin’. I’m not drivin another two hours just so you can get your cock sucked earlier.”

::

It wasn’t yet dawn when Logan woke up, hard and sweating. He heard the Cajun in the next room over, either jerking off good and hard or in the middle of a wet dream; either way, Logan wasn’t happy about it. Even with all of the windows open he was still in a confined space with a raging pheromone factory.

He licked his palm and pulled down his sweats. Taking himself in hand he tried to pull up a fantasy to get him there faster, but every time he had one half formed in his mind, there would be a moan or a grunt from the other room. Not to mention the fact that the room reeked of man. But his hand was still moving and it felt so good and before he registered what he was doing he was moving in synch to the damned Cajun’s porno track. And it was good, damned good. Remy would moan and Logan would circle his hips, Remy would gasp and Logan would fuck hard up into his hand, the sound and the action coming so close together that it sounded and smelled like Logan was fucking the damned Cajun. And then his brain supplied an image of that, Gambit on all fours in front of him, taking everything he had and wantonly gasping and writhing; his dick disappearing into that tight ass over and over, faster and faster. And then Logan was coming long and hard, uncaring of the sounds he made, unnoticing of how he shot far enough to hit himself in the chin, so focused in the single moment, the single act of letting go, cresting almost violently into orgasm that everything else just faded away to insignificance. 

Or it did until he heard Remy in the other room, howling with abandon, as he met his own orgasm, the scent of him stronger now, mixing with the scent of Logan’s own sex and muddling his brain; his dick gave one last pulse to that sound, trying its damndest to shoot one last pulse, his whole body contorted with the efforts of his lizard brain.

As his higher brain cooled down enough to start working again, he was struck with a fear that Remy had heard him, that he would mention it, that in the thrall he might even come in here to confront Logan while they were both sweaty and come-covered. That mental image only served to make his exhausted cock twitch with interest, and Logan knew enough to know that no good could come of that.

He got up, took a quick shower and went for a jog in the woods to clear his mind.

The sun was just coming up by the time he got back, and there was a secondary scent, bacon. The duality of hunger that hit him was confusing at best. But Remy at least seemed aware of the issue, and he’d set the picnic table outside for breakfast rather than have the two of them enclosed with his ever-leaking pheromones.

“Perfect timing, homme, Remy just finish de eggs,” Remy called as he was pushing some over-easy eggs onto Logan’s plate. “Come eat before dey get cold.” He sat on the other side of the table and dug in without waiting for Logan, which actually set him a bit more at ease with the whole situation.

They ate silently, cleared silently, and Logan’s dread was building the whole time. He was convinced that the Cajun was going to say something about last night. But Remy slipped off to get ready while Logan washed the dishes and they climbed into the jeep (though Logan never would know how the hell the Cajun managed to sit in those jeans, they were so damned tight) and drove into the city.

“Gambit don’ need no escort, homme,” was the first thing Remy had said since breakfast, when Logan parked the jeep.

“Wasn’t plannin’ on offerin’ one,” Logan said, even though he’d been wondering if Remy would expect a shadow of some sort. “Just don’t go gettin’ noticed by the wrong sort and be back at the jeep as close to four as you can, I wanna miss rush hour outta the city.”

“An what you tink de wrong sort?” Gambit teased.

“Anyone a fine, upstanding citizen would consider the right sort,” Logan answered without even thinking.

Remy winked one red eye and stalked off to the seedier side of town, his trench billowing behind him and his long, skinny legs eating up the distance without any trouble.

Logan cursed himself for noticing and headed to the nearest bar.

::

Logan was back at the Jeep by three, puffing on a cigar and reading the paper. He didn’t know how close the Cajun was likely to cut his deadline.

Four thirty and he scented the Cajun. When he looked up he saw him a block and a half away. Better, but not enough. Maybe he should take the kid to a brothel; and in fact, that had been his first idea, but knowing what he did about Remy’s past he’d nixed that idea pretty damned fast.

“I was thinkin’ steak for dinner,” Logan said in lieu of a hello.

“Good idea, homme, Gambit need de protein.” The Cajun shot him a sly smile as he eased into the jeep.

“Movin’ a little slower this afternoon,” Logan teased.

Remy didn’t so much as blush, “You know de circus was in town when you set dis up?”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Do now.” He turned over the engine.

“One word for you, mon ami:” Remy said just as Logan was about to hit the highway, “Contortionists.” 

::

Remy was a bit more relaxed at dinner; he still seemed twitchy and was far from his normal, relaxed and in-control self, but he wasn’t as withdrawn as he had been the last week. “Gambit glad to be out here after all,” he said when he’d cleared his plate. “In de city, der too many people, Gambit feel like he have to take care of dis too fast.”

“Need to relax too,” Logan said, understanding. “Get yourself centered again. You been twitchy. Still are. Ain’t normal for you.”

“Oui, mon ami, you understand. Besides, only so long you can hustle the strong man before he notice you better at cards, non?”

Logan laughed. “How much did you make?”

Remy pulled a wad of twenties out of his pocket. “Week’s rent on dis place I bet.”

Logan’s grin grew. “Do ya one better, Cajun.” He pulled a wad of hundreds out of his own pocket. “Found a prize fight.”

Remy threw his head back and laughed. The sound was pure joy and lead the birds to join him. “Dis our kind of city, homme!”

“Loose women and idiots willing to make a bad bet, god love ‘em.” Logan raised is beer in a salute.

“Gambit drink to dat, homme,” Remy laughed, clinked his bottle to Logan’s and took a deep drought. 

They built up a small fire, Logan cut some tree limbs and Remy gave them a small charge to get them crackling. They tossed some mosquito repellent near enough the flames that they weren’t eaten alive and just stretched out on a blanket rather than spend the rest of the day confined inside.

“Gambit sorry ‘bout last night, homme,” Remy said after a while, his voice little more than a whisper.

“Nothin’ to apologize for,” Logan said, hating how much his voice sounded like a growl. “Nose got the better of me, that’s all. Knew when I brought you out here that I’d have to deal with the extra pheromones ‘til you were more yourself. Hope it didn’t scare you too bad.”

“Nah, homme… sounded nice. De thrall been buildin’ up for a while, and it been like you said, non but my hand to take care of it.” He turned a bit to face Logan. “Hearin’ you… Gambit liked it.”

Logan opened his mouth to say something, to deny what Gambit was saying, to push it away, to explain it away; but what he said was, “Me too.”

Gambit smiled at that and turned completely to his side to look at Logan properly. His red eyes were brighter, his long, lithe body seemed more on display like this, though Logan had no idea why or how. “De femmes today, the hommes, dey not enough for Gambit, dey don’t know how to make de thrall settle. Wit’ dem, Gambit have to worry about getting sick.”

When Gambit’s words registered beyond the haze forming in Logan’s head, he had to chuckle. “Is that what this is about? You figure that with me we could go bareback?”

Suddenly Remy was straddling him at the hips, hands at either side of Logan’s head. “Dey can’t give Gambit what he need. I’m bettin’ you can, homme.” He rocked against Logan’s half-hard cock. 

“You don’t want that,” Logan growled.

Gambit leaned closer, his lips barely hovering above Logan’s, “Non, chère, you wrong, Gambit want dat very much.”

The pheromones were so strong, Logan had been half-hard all day and now, with the Cajun surrounding him, offering so blatantly, hell demanding; he was at the end of his tether. His hands dug into the skintight denim at Gambit’s hips without him making any decision to do so. He was panting hard, every breath filling his senses with the thrall of the other man. “This is yer last warnin’, Cajun, stop this now. Pull back the power surge.”

Remy sat back and Logan was about to sigh a breath of relief, but the damned Cajun just grabbed a small bottle of lube out of his coat pocket, stripped it off and threw it in the vicinity of the picnic table, rolling his hips obscenely as he did. He leaned back down and crashed his mouth to Logan’s, unable to wait another second.

Logan growled deep in his throat, rolled them, pinning Remy beneath him and started ripping at clothes. His hands were roaming, throwing clothes every witch way, he was struggling harder than he could believe not to pull out his claws; the pheromones that were pouring off of the Cajun were pulling the animal out of him, making him want to mark and rut and _claim_. And as much as he loved the tension of Gambit’s long legs vised around his hips, the feral wanted something else. He pulled those amazing legs off of him roughly and flipped Remy hard and fast, pulling those damned tight black jeans down as he did.

Remy moaned that goddamned porn star moan and arched his back, wanton, begging. “Homme, please, chère, please.” He was swaying, trying to get a rhythm with the air itself. “Need dis, need you.”

Logan leaned in as he poured lube on his fingers and whispered in a husky growl, “Tell me, Cajun, what would you do if I reached down to these fuck-me-jeans pooled around your knees, and grabbed out a rubber? What would you do if I put up that barrier?”

Remy whimpered, “Non chère, please, merde. Just need you, homme, please. AH!” He cried out in ecstasy when Logan roughly pushed two lubed fingers into him.

“Damn, darlin’, how hard you let that strong man take you today? You’re still loose.” Logan’s dick throbbed. “How hard you need it?”

“Hard as you can give it chére. Gambit can take whatever you give.”

Logan growled out an evil little chuckle. “Might just have to find that out for myself.” He pushed in another finger on the next thrust.

“Damn, chére, Gambit open, don’ tease.”

And tease is exactly what Logan wanted to do, he loved holding a lover right there on the edge, making them totally lose control, making them just as much an animal as he was. But right now, in the open air, in the sunshine of the dying summer day, with no one but the birds as witnesses, he didn’t have the patience for that. He slicked up, hissing as the cool lube hit his bare flesh; he lined up and _thrust_.

Gambit froze and gasped, overcome by how hard and fast he’d been taken and how goddamned _good_ it felt. “YESSSSSS” he hissed and arched his back further, taking the last of Logan’s girth into himself.

Logan was shaking from the effort to keep himself still; while it was true he hadn’t been with many men, those who he had taken he’d had to be careful with them, at least at first. And even though he’d started off loose, and he’d said he could take it all, but Logan wasn’t willing to hurt his friend and teammate just to get his rocks off.

Remy was twisting and pushing back, trying to fuck himself on Logan’s hot cock. “Homme,” he whined, “if you wanted dis t’eif to do de work, you should have left Gambit on top.”

Logan, hoping Remy wasn’t lying about what he could take, gave his first thrust.

That’s when the porn star noises started up. Every thrust, every counter thrust, every move, every touch had a corresponding sound. Every one of Logan’s senses was involved and on overdrive; the scent of Remy’s thrall, the taste of his sweat-slick skin when Logan mouthed his shoulder, the sight of all of that flesh drawn taught and dancing on his cock, all of that hot flesh under his hands, all being drawn together with the orgasmic bow of those goddamned porn star sounds.

It was hard and fast for as long as they could manage, neither of them was willing to just give up the immense amount of pleasure that was there laid out before them, there for the taking. And take they did.

The shadows grew long and the small fire’s glow became the brightest point when Remy grabbed his hand, wrapped it around his leaking cock and stroked with him. He was so hot and so hard, his balls drawn up so far, he’d been holding himself on the precipice for so long, too long, he couldn’t wait another second, he came and came and came and came, painting the blanket beneath him.

The tight fist of Gambit’s hole constricted around him as the Cajun let go, he let go of a small charge as well, the power of it skittered over Logan’s flesh, singing some of his chest hair and pushing him hard over the edge. He thrust in one last time, burying himself as far as he could into Remy’s body and coming hard and long.

Logan had just enough presence of mind to pitch himself sideways as he collapsed in a sweaty, exhausted heap.

“Damn, mon ami,” Remy managed. He rolled onto his back next to Logan, pillowing his head on Logan’s bicep. “If Gambit had known you was dat good, dis t’eif would have broken into your room months ago. Don’ even mind bein’ in de wet spot.”

Logan laughed at that. “Back atcha, darlin’.” He flopped his hand out, found his discarded shirt and pulled a cigar from the pocket. Before he could ask, Remy had reached down to the pool of Logan’s pants and grabbed the lighter. Logan grunted his thanks. “Please tell me you at least feel better.”

“Can’t you tell, homme?”

“Cajun, I got so much of yer smell on me right now I can’t smell this cigar.”

Remy smiled and cuddled in a bit more. “You jus’ let Gambit know when you ready to go again, homme. Few more days of dis, Gambit be feelin’ jus’ fine again.”


End file.
